


Bad Things Happen Bingo - Dick Grayson

by Ivyem



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bombing, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Jason Todd, Shootings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyem/pseuds/Ivyem
Summary: This is just a collection of one-shots of Dick getting hurt.Tags will change and trigger warning are at the beginning of every chapterLatest chapter: Sensory Deprivation
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 158





	1. Cauterizing a wound

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Guns, gunshot wounds, cauterizing wounds, non-descriptive gore

Dick didn’t ask Jason for much, so when he showed up at Jason’s door asking him to help with a bust, Jason had been more than surprised.

“What, can’t I want to hang out with you sometimes?” Dick asked. Jason agreed to help, but only if Dick wouldn’t complain if Jason shot someone.

“Fine, just don’t make it your first option, and try to aim for less lethal areas.” 

The two donned their suits and headed off into Blüdhaven. 

“So really, why’d you ask me?” Jason asked as the two were doing recon.

“B and I got into a fight, I’d chop my arm off before I ask for his help right now. And besides, I haven’t seen you in a while, I was almost starting to miss you.” Jason rolled his eyes. His older brother was way to affectionate for his taste. 

“Aren’t you always? In a fight with B?” Dick pouted and stuck his tongue out at Jason like a child.

“There!” He whispered, pointing to a man coming out of the building. Jason stood up and checked his gun.

“Alright, lets go.” Dick nodded, pulling out his Escrima sticks. He jumped roofs and pulled the air vent off of it.

“Am I gonna fit in that?” Jason asked looking down.

“You calling yourself fat?”

“No, I’m calling you short.” Dick snorted, slipping his way into the air vent. He crawled until he found a grate. He peered through it, looking at the people inside the building.

“5 men, armed. 3 near the guns on the left, 2 playing cards at a table.” Dick informed. Jason, who had in fact struggled to fit into the vent, had finally made it over to the grate.

“I’ll take the 3.” He said. Dick scowled.

“Why you?”

“Cause I’m the one with the guns dumbass.” Jason patted his hip for emphasis.

“Right, yeah.” Dick said. He carefully removed the grate and dropped down, swinging himself towards the men playing cards.”

He heard Jason land behind him after getting in a few hits. He had gotten close enough that the weren’t able to get a shot in and he was able to take their guns and knock them out. 

He ducked when he heard shots from behind him, moving behind the table to gauge the situation safely.

Jason has taken down one man and was currently fighting the other two. 

Dick stood up and slid over the table, running to join his brother in his battle.

Dick began to struggle with one of the men, having dropped his escrima stick to fight the gun out of the man’s hand. The man was a lot stronger than he predicted, the gun moving between pointing at Dick and himself.

Jason heard a shot go off, fallowed by silence. He finally knocked one of the men on the floor. He looked over to the source of the shot and saw his brother laying on the floor, unmoving. He took a shot to the back of the man’s knee and kneeled next to Dick, carefully flipping him over.

Blood covered Dick left side, darkening his suit. Jason swore and placed his hands over the wound.

“Those are some pretty good guns.” Dick ground out with a smile. The bastards were selling armor piercing bullets.

“I’m calling Batman.” Jason said, reaching into his pocket. Dick grabbed his wrist.

“No, please, don’t call B.” Jason knew his older brother hated disappointing the man, but he also knew he hated being told he did something stupid, which is what happened often.

“It’ll take ‘im too long anyways.” Jason noticed that Dick’s words began to slur together and his eyes were glazed over.

“Hey, hey big bird, stay awake.” 

“I am,” Dick complained. Jason could carry him, but although he was barely average height for a man, he still weighed 175 pounds, and that as dead weight, Dick knew he would bleed out before Jason got anywhere helpful. 

“Jas’n” He slurred, pulling on his brother’s jacket. “Light, y’r light” Jason furrowed his eyebrows, pressing down harder on Dick’s wound.

“Y’r lighter?” He made a motion with his hand akin to lighting a lighter. 

“No- Dickie we don’t need to to that.” Jason protested. Dick shook his head reaching into Jason’s pocket himself, pulling out a lighter.  


“Jas’n, don’t wanna die t’day.” He said before placing his escrima stick in his mouth and attempting to light the lighter. His hands were shaking to much and he could barely press down.

“Fine.” Jason grumbled, pulling the lighter from Dick’s hand and lighting it himself. He pulled away Dick’s suit and brought the lighter up close. 

“I’m sorry.” Jason whispered.

Dick flinched away the moment he felt the heat, but when the flame touched his skin, he whimpered behind his gag. His breathing picked up before he started screaming, the smell of burnt flesh making him choke. He felt tears run own his face and he could no longer hear a word Jason was saying. 

Jason was sure Dick was going to pass out from the pain, but he just kept screaming.

Dick felt a hand on his face as he faded back into reality.

“Hey, it’s over, the bleeding stopped, we gotta go.” If it were any other situation, Dick would have been surprised at how gentle Jason’s voice was.  
Dick let the escrima stick fall out of his mouth as he leaned his head back, panting.

“Shit.” He choked out. Jason huffed a laugh.

“Yeah shit.” He said, wiping the tears from Dick face. 

“Come on Goldie, I’m taking you back to your place then I’m calling Bruce.” Dick moaned in annoyance but didn’t protest further as Jason slipped an arm under Dick’s shoulders and his knees.

“Once this is over, we don’t talk about this.” He said lifting his older brother off the floor.

“What the first aid or you caring?” Dick’s voice had become scratchy from screaming.  
***  
Jason laid Dick on his couch and headed into the bathroom to find his first aid kit. When he returned, he found Dick sound asleep. He treated the wound and wrapped it before calling Bruce.

“Hey, your dumbest son just got himself shot, he’s fine. I had to cauterize the wound but he should be fine till he can get some real help.”

Bruce was heading over in his car so Jason sat on one of the recliners.

Jason would never tell anyone how he knew he would have nightmares filled with Dick’s screams and pleas and the smell of burning flesh. He didn’t really think he cared all that much about Bruce’s ‘golden boy’ but hearing his brother scream like that broke his heart more than he would care to admit.

“Jas’n.” Dick spoke. Jason looked up at his brother, hoping nothing more was wrong.

“Thanks.” Dick smiled at Jason, holding his hand out.

“Yeah, yeah, can’t let you get yourself killed big bird.” He placed his hand in Dick’s. 

The older man smiled brighter before his eyes fluttered shut. Jason’s hand remained there until Bruce knocked on the apartment door.


	2. Pinned down by wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Referenced death, bombs, fire, impalement, vomit

It was a family patrol. The whole Batfamily working together to canvas the city. Dick was in Gotham for the week, visiting. Damian had asked him to help with training, more specifically, acrobatics. Dick then decided that he would stick around for a bit. He missed his family and Blüdhaven had been quiet lately. 

It was supposed to be easy, but then again, it never was. They were supposed to patrol, to take down any muggers. They didn’t account for an entire apartment complex to explode. 

The were too many apartment rooms and not enough firefighters, so eight Kevlar clad vigilantes intervened. Steph and Duke took the ground floor, assisting everyone out calmly. Cass and Jason took the middle floors, Bruce and Tim looked for any remaining bombs and Dick and Damian took the top floors.

The majority of the people Dick and Damian found were already dead, killed by smoke inhalation or crushed. They did however manage to find a few people and lead them to safety. 

“We’re those the last?” Damian asked, his voice muffled by his gas mask. Dick looked around, counting all the doors they had already checked on. 

“Check storage.” He said. Damian nodded and lightly touched the handle, gauging weather there was a fire on the other side of not. He sighed, opening the door and peeking inside.

“Nothing.” He said, turning back to Dick. The older man nodded and motioned for them to leave. He reached up into his ear to access his communicator.

“Top floors clear.” His voice rang through to the team who all responded, letting him know they heard him. 

Another explosion shook through the building, dust falling from the ceiling and the floor cracking.

“Robin come on.” He called his brother closer as he moved faster and more cautious across the floor.

Damian had shuffled up next to him, taking the same delicate steps. 

Dick stopped as he felt the ground give lightly below his feet. He looked over at his brother and sighed.

“The floor isn’t going to hold my weight. Go, I’ll find a way out.” Dick turned around and started searching for another way out. Damian sighed, wanting to complain but knowing that Dick would be adamant. 

Damian was halfway down the hallway when he heard a crash. His head whipped around to make sure his brother was okay, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Nightwing?!” He yelled. Only the sound of flames and a fire alarm responded. “Wing?” He shuffled back over the floor and saw a hole, a man sized whole in the floor with no bottom in sight. He lifted his hand to his com, shaking.

“Nightwing’s unaccounted for, he fell through the floor.” He spoke carefully. The coms buzzed with the team asking him questions and freaking out.

“Where are you Robin?” Bruce asked, his voice meant business, anything else was thrown out the window.

“11th floor east side but, I don’t know how far he fell.” Damian relayed. 

“Red Hood, Black Bat, once your done evacuating citizens, check the floors you’ve already cleared, Robin start heading down and checking for Nightwing, Oracle, try and reach him on the coms.” Bruce barked out orders. The team called out agreement and set to work.

Damian headed to the floor below him, checking for any signs of his brother. He went down and checked the next floor and the next when Barbra came over his coms. 

“I’ve got ahold of him, he said he’s okay but he doesn’t know what floor he’s on.” She informed, the team sighed but continued searching.

****

The first thing Dick felt was pain. Pain down his back, in his side, his arms and his head. He felt heavy, like something was pressing on his chest. 

He slowly pried his eyes open, which caused more pain than he ever thought it could. He could see a small light above him, most likely from the hole he fell through. 

He tilted his head up with much difficulty and surveyed his body. Sure enough a large piece of concrete was covering his torso. One of his arms disconnected from his shoulder socket and his hand was crushed. His other arm was managing better, small cuts and a gash on his bicep allowed him to move it with minimal pain. He reached up and pressed his head, blood coming off of his fingers, defiantly a concussion. 

He couldn’t see his legs behind the large piece of building, but he was sure his legs were fairing as well as the rest of him, the stabbing pain in his hip and left knee very prominent. 

He didn’t want to think about the searing pain around his right thigh, and what it might mean. He took a deep breath, laying his head back, trying to compose himself.

“-ing, Ni-wi-, Night-, Nightwing?” A familiar voice crackled through his ear and he let out a sob of relief. He took a breath before carefully lifting his right arm to his ear.

“O?” He asked. His voice was rough, and the dust inside his mouth sent him into a coughing fit.

“Wing!” Barbra yelled. Dick smiled, his eyes threatening to flutter shut.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asked as if he wasn’t pinned to the ground and possibly bleeding out.

“Jesus Wing, we were worried, where are you?” Dick looked around, trying to find an indicator of where he was.

“Don’t know, fell a few floors.” He admired looking back up. “How the evac?” He could heat Barbra sigh from the other end.

“Hood and Black Bat are almost done with their floors. I can’t connect you to the main channel though. How are you doing? Do you need them to come get you know? Robin’s looking.” Dick felt a jolt of pain through his body and was reminded of the damage. Civilians could be burning to death, he could wait, he was trained to.

“Fine O, tell em to come whenever.” He could wait, he kept telling himself as the pain in his chest began to worsen and the feeling left his legs and hand. 

***

Damian had searched 4 floors, each one was painstakingly long and full of disappointment. 

The flames had been put out ten minuets prior but the heat and smoke still made everything worse. 

He got a message from Jason that he and Cass would begin searching, which made his chest loosen just a bit. 

Barbra kept tuning in with updates. Dick kept saying he was fine, but Damian didn’t know how much of that he believed. He had to have fallen more than 4 stories, and that alone had to do some damage, not to mention the amount of wreckage there was. But Dick was awake and talking, and for now, that was okay.

Damian reached the seventh floor, maneuvering through the rubble to find the whole in the ground, but instead of a hole in the ground, he found a figure. He spotted the dark hair and blue embellishments on a Kevlar suit, and ran.

“Nightwing!” He yelled.

***

Dick’s breathing became wet. He knew what that meant but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Barbra. The team was moving as fast as the could and it would do them no good to worry them.

He almost told Barbra when he started coughing. Iron filled his mouth, blood dribbled down his chin and pooled in his throat. In this position, he would probably drown in his own blood before he bled out.

His eyes felt like they weighed 100 ponds, flickering shut before snapping open again. He could feel tears running down his face and mixing with blood, he didn’t want to die, but he especially didn’t want to die alone and in the dark.

“Nightwing!” It was as if whatever higher power existed had granted him his last wish. The sound wasn’t coming from his com, so that’s must have meant Damian was close by. Damian, was God really that cruel, Dick didn’t want to die alone, but the thought of Damian watching him die was one of heartbreak. 

“Wing!” He heard someone collapse next to him, and felt a hand on his head.

“Wing?” Damian sounded like he was crying. Dick moved his eyes towards his little brother and cracked a smile.

“Dami,” He whispered. Damian’s eyebrows furrowed.

“No names in the field.” He muttered. Dick snorted a laugh that devolved into coughs and sobs. More blood flowed out of his mouth and down his neck. He forced himself to stop when he heard Damian whimper.

“Nightwing, you really are foolish. You told Oracle that you were fine yet I find you bleeding out.” Dick carefully lifted his better arm and placed it on Damian’s cheek.

“Didn’t want you to worry baby bird.” His voice now sounded like his throat had been in a bar fight with a cheese grater and lost. 

“Worry? Of course I’m worried. You-“ Damian cur himself off and took in a breath.

“Injuries?” He asked. Dick scrunched his face.

“Crushed, my arm is dislocated and my hand is smashed. My hip is bad, ‘n my knee, but I can’t feel it anymore. My head hurts, dizzy.” He looked back over at Damian.

“Dami? ‘S my leg still attached?” Damian’s eyes widened and he quickly moved to look around the wreckage. He sighed when he found both of Dick’s legs intact.

“Just a laceration.” He said. He saw Dick close his eyes, trying to contain a sob of relief. 

Damian pulled his cape off and stared ripping it, tying the pieces around Dick’s legs and arms. He placed a hand on Dick’s head and reached for his com.

“Found him, seventh floor east side, he’s in worse condition that he said, please come quick.” He spoke, trying not to let his voice waiver. 

“Be there in a sec demon spawn.” Jason was coming, Cass was coming. Maybe the three of them could figure this out, get Dick out without any further complications.

He focused on Dick’s eyes, talking to him whenever they started to shut.

“But ‘m tired, and it hurts.” Dick whined. Dick whined a lot, more than the average grown man should but, this time it was more pathetic and sad than annoying. 

“I know, you’ll be okay, just wait a little longer.” Damian said, running his hand through his older brother’s hair, not wanting to break contact.

“Robin?” Damian jerked around when he heard a new voice. Jason was running up to them, fallowed by Cass. Damian let out a breath and shuffled out of the way.

“I can’t get it off him.” He said. Jason had froze, staring at his brother who was laying on the ground bleeding to death from almost every part of his body.

“Shit.” Jason swore kneeling down and pressing on Dick’s abdomen. The older man let out a whine. Damian leaned in close to his brother’s ear.

“You’re okay.” He whispered. He hoped Jason and Cass couldn’t hear him and that Dick would forget when this was all over, but he hated seeing Dick in pain and would do anything to relieve it.

“Big Bird?” Jason asked. Dick looked up and hummed. “I need to check some things okay?” Dick hummed again. 

Damian watched as Jason places a hand on Dick’s leg. 

“Can you feel this?” He asked, Damian studied Dick’s face. It scrunched up again.

“‘S weird, tingly.” He answered. 

“So you can feel it?” Dick hummed again, and Jason sighed in relief. He moved over near Dick’s head and peeled off his mask.

“God his pupil is blown.” Jason also didn’t like the far away stare and glasses over eyes, but announcing that wasn’t going to do anything.

“Alright, lets get this thing off.” Cass and Damian joined Jason in grabbing the slab of concrete. They began to pull upwards when they heard a crack. Dick had snapped his head back onto the concrete and his whole body began to shake. 

A seizure, Jason realized. Blood was oozing out from under the slab of concrete, and that’s when he saw it.

“Shit, there’s rebar through his side. Robin his head!” He yelled, placing his hands around the metal sticking through his brother.

Damian slid behind Dick and placed his head on his lap his hands on other side of his face, trying to keep him steady.

Dick eventually stopped moving. A second later he moaned in pain and opened his eyes.

“Dam’n?” He asked. Damian rubbed his dumb over Dick’s cheek, letting out a strangled sob.

“Yes, it’s me Richard.” Damian was fed up with using code names, calling Dick ‘Nightwing’ right now felt wrong. He was worried for his team mate, but more importantly he was worried for his brother, the man who had taken him in when his father ‘died’ and taught him that he didn’t have to be a weapon. 

“The bleeding stopped,” Jason let out a large breath, his hands covered in blood as he pulled them away from Dick’s torso.

“We have to cut the rebar.” He sounded defeated, like they would have to wait for the actual fire department to find them, but he wasn’t sure that Dick would be alive by then.

“Robin.” Cass called patting her hip. Damian look confused before smiling and starting to rifle through his belt.

“This cuts through metal.” He said handing over a small handheld saw.

“Thanks Cass” Jason said. The girl just smiled tightly and kneeled down next to Dick, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“B keeps adding weirder and weirder things to the belt doesn’t he.” Jason mumbled, placing one hand on the concrete.

“Keep him calm Robin.” He turned on the small saw. The friction between the saw and the metal made it shake. Dick whimpered and tried to move away from the pain.

“What’s? Dam’n? Hurts,” Dick was mumbling incoherently. Damian began running a hand through Dick’s hair.

“No, you have to stay still. It’ll be over soon, you’re okay.” Damian whispered. 

Cass, who had been rubbing circles into Dick’s shoulder, raised a hand and wiped Damian’s face. He had started crying.

“I got it.” Jason called out. Cass stood up and walked over to the concrete. She held up a hand, a signal for Damian to stay where he was. They could use his help lifting, but it was more important that Damian stayed with Dick, besides both Jason and Cass could lift over 200 lbs.

“On three,” Jason started.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Three,” Cass and Jason lifted up, shifting the concrete slab away quickly. Dick let out a strangled scream as his wounds were exposed. With the concrete gone, they could really see the damage done to Dick’s torso.

His chest was nearly caved in, and his hip looked crooked. The impalement wound wasn’t bleeding but the amount of blood surrounding it was more than concerning.

“We found the last bomb and everyone is evacuated, how is Nightwing.” Bruce came on over the coms. 

“We managed to unpin him but, he’s lost a lot of blood. He had one seizure, but that might just be the pain. I don’t think there’s any spinal damage but I want to move him carefully.” Jason relayed. They could hear Bruce swear over the com and then sigh.

“Alright, get him into the bat mobile Tim and I’ll drive ahead and help Alfred prep the names bay.” Jason wanted to argue, tell Bruce to shove his secret identity up his ass because Dick needed a hospital, but he ground his teeth and stood up.

“Alright, I’m going to carry him out, Robin can you walk ahead to make sure the floor is secure?” Damian nodded. He carefully picked Dick’s head off of his lap and set it on the floor before jumping up.

Jason carefully slid his hands under Dick’s shoulder and knees and lifted. A sharp whine escaped from Dick’s mouth. Jason apologizes and began walking carefully behind Damian and Cass.

The four made it down the stairs and out the back door in one piece. They walked to the Batmobile and Jason laid Dick in the back seat before climbing into the drivers. 

Damian slid in on the other side of the car and laid Dick’s head back in his lap.

“Alright, hold onto him, we’re going.” Jason said. Damian reached over and placed a hand on Dick’s thigh, securing him to the seat. Jason pressed down on the gas and they sped off at a speed that surely wasn’t legal anywhere. 

Dick whined, shifting his position as much as he could without sending his body into more pain.

“‘M sick.” He managed to slur. Damian furrowed his eyebrows before he understood.

“You’re going to be sick?” He asked. Dick whined again, unable to form coherent words. 

Cass flung open the glove compartment and pulled out a bag, shoving it into the backseat. Damian grabbed the sides and brought it up to Dick’s face, who imidietly started coughing and gagging into it. 

After a few seconds he stopped, laying his head back on Damian’s lap and closing his eyes.

The bag was filled with red, and Damian could see more dripping out of Dick’s mouth.

“Todd!” He yelled, Jason looked back and saw the red.

“I’m literally going as fast as this thing goes!” He was, 200 mph on a Gotham street. 

He pulled in behind the manor and into the bat cave. He saw Alfred, Bruce, and Tim come running up to the car. He jumped out and opened the door, motioning for Damian to move. 

Once Damian was out of the way Jason reached in and grabbed his older brother, placing him on the gurney Alfred has brought over. He watched as Alfred wheeled Dick to the other side of the room where Dr. Thompson was setting up a blood transfusion.

“Damian, head to bed.” Bruce said, a hand on his youngest son’s back. Damian scowled.

“No way, I’m not sleeping until I know he’s okay.” Bruce sighed.

“Just, go upstairs, there’s nothing you can do right now, I’ll call you down when he’s out of surgery, I promise.” Damian opened his mouth to protest but Jason shoved him in the direction of the stairs. 

***

Dick felt foggy. His brain couldn’t make out what was happening and his eyes were heavy. He felt a dull ache all over his body and he was cold.

He peeled his eyes open and saw a small hand placed on his own. Damian was fast asleep by his bedside, holding his hand.

“Damian?” His voice was barely a whisper, vocal cords too tortured to work correctly.

The small head of black hair snapped up, eyes wide.

“Richard, you’re awake?” Dick smiled, lifting his hand to his brother’s face.

“I am,” Damian’s face turned dark and his hands clutches around the bed’s blanket.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again!” Damian yelled. Dick flinched at the loud noise, but kept his eyes trained on his brother.

“Don’t tell everyone you’re okay and leave us to find you dying! I thought you were going to die!” Damian screamed. Dick’s face fell. He placed a hand on Damian’s head and pulled the boy to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It would have taken the same amount of time whether I told you or not I just-“

“Didn’t want us to worry.” Damian grumbled. Dick chuckled, letting out a cough.

“Yeah, but I’m sorry baby bird, I love you.” He planted a kiss on Damian’s head and let his eyes flutter shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing I enjoy more than Jason and Dick brotherly bonding is Damian and Dick brotherly bonding


	3. Sensory Deprivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depersonalization/Derealization/Disassociation, Hallucinations, Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, eating issues
> 
> Buckle up, this one get dark

White, everything was white. His cloths, the walls, the floor, the one pillow and blanket that laid on it. Everything was sickeningly white.

Dick had only been locked in the room for what he thought was a few hours, but he was already starting to loose his mind.

It was so quiet. The only noise came from his light footsteps and his own voice. He paced back and forth muttering to himself about anything he could think of.

He wondered when his captor would enter and start asking questions, but he knew it was most likely they would wait for him to break and beg. He wouldn’t. He knew sensory deprivation was one of the best ways to condition someone, but he kept telling himself you would hold out, he wouldn’t break and he would die before he begged.

He tapped at his hands and thighs, trying to simulate any sort of stimulation. He began bitting on the skin around his fingernail, relishing when he drew blood. 

Red was his favorite color, it stood out in front of all the white. Just a drop of red. 

He counted, starting over every time he lost his place. He had counted to 1,000 over five times. He recited times tables and square roots. He he went through the Fibonacci sequence till he couldn’t do the math mentally anymore. 

He thought of his family. They were looking for him, he knew it. Tim probably hadn’t slept since they realized he was missing, working himself into exhaustion, none of them had probably. Maybe Jason, but he didn’t sleep well anyways. 

Maybe they were all at the manor, trying to find him. Without him there as a buffer, Jason, Tim, and Damian were probably tearing each other apart.

Had Bruce contacted the League yet? His teams? Had it been long enough for Bruce to give in and accept help? 

Dick’s head snapped up as a soft hissing sound came from the ceiling. Gas, Dick concluded, lifting his shirt over his mouth in order to try and keep it out.

His eyes became heavy and his body started to relax, but his mind was running 100 mph trying to stay awake.

He woke up to bandages on his fingers, a plate filled with rice and bread without the crust, and a glass of water. 

He ate with his hands and drank all of the water in one try. 

How long had he been asleep? What time was it? What day was it? Everything blurred together.

He knew what happened to people who were subjected to sensory deprivation, but when the hallucinations started, he wanted to believe they were real.

They were all eerily silent, just sitting there, taunting him. Sometimes it was Bruce, looking at him with the same face he had when he fired Dick. Sometimes it was Damian, his hands covered in blood and the look of a killer. Other times it was Jason, 13 years old and silently pleading for someone to save him. It became Tim, full of betrayal and anger. Roy, high as a kite, Donna, walking dead, Barbra crying, Artemis and Wally, Kory, even Catalina.

All of his past mistakes stood in front of him at one point or another. 

He had started scratching at his arms, digging deep enough to draw blood. His upper arms coated in red. 

They would gas him every so often, and when he woke up, his wounds were cleaned and he had food. He guessed that they also cut his nails and hair so that he was unable to tell time. 

The walls would move, trying to swallow him. He heard whispers and his limbs felt wrong, too heavy or numb. 

It wasn’t hard to sleep, as soon as he closed his eyes he would be out, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t know how long he was asleep and he hated not knowing what time it was.

He would start to cry, for no reason. He would be sitting on the floor, his knees tucked into his chest, and he would start crying. 

He would scream, anything was better than the stale silence that crawled up his back.

The next time he woke up, the plate his food was on was ceramic. He looked around, knowing there was a camera in the room somewhere. They wanted him to hurt himself.

He wouldn’t, his family was coming for him he just had to wait. 

So he waited.

And waited.

He knew they had missed his feeding because he had never felt this hungry before. He truly believed his stomach was beginning to digest itself.

He began to wonder if they had just left. If they decided they had had their fun and left him alone to starve. 

He couldn’t stop looking at the plate. It filled his thoughts every moment in that godforsaken room. 

Without thinking he picked it up and threw it, pieces of ceramic flying everywhere. He stepped forward, his feet landing on the shards, sending pain through his legs. 

He reached forward and picked up a shard. He started by cutting into his hand, watching in marvel as red flowed down his fingers. He placed his hand on the wall watching the blood deep into the padding.

Soon there were red footprints on the floor and handprints on the walls. Red, so much red Dick barely paid attention the the white. He could breathe.

He fell asleep, his head on a red pillow, covered by a red blanket.

He woke to white.

The ceramic was still there. He knew what they wanted. They wanted him to break. And God did he want that just as much. He wanted out, he wanted it to stop. He wanted to go home. 

Home- he wasn’t going home. Probably not ever. The only way out of that room was going six feet under, he knew that. They weren’t looking for him. Maybe it had been a year and they announced him dead. Maybe it had only been a week and they still didn’t know he was missing. 

Either way, no one was coming.

He sat on the floor with a large shard of ceramic in his hand. He knew it would take a lot for ceramic to cut through skin the way he wanted it to. 

But no one was coming, he wanted to go home, he wanted it to stop.

He woke up with bandages pulled tight over his forearms. He raised his knees to his chest and sobbed.

What was the point? They wanted him to try and kill himself, but they didn’t want him to die.

They wanted him to beg, to promise he would do anything, tell them anything, if they would just let him out, or let him die.

“Please.” He whispered. He wouldn’t tell them anything. Giving them information would put his family in danger, and he would spend the rest of eternity surrounded by white before he did anything like that. 

He didn’t know how long he laid there, starring at the ceiling, he had been gassed more than once, but the plate of rice sat in the middle of the floor, untouched. It was more of he didn’t have the energy to move than he was trying to starve himself to death, he knew after a while they would probably use a feeding tube.

That they did.

He woke up tied to a dentist chair, the room was still white but the addition of he chair was nice, other than the fact that he was restrained to it.

“Just tell me what you know and I’ll let you out.” Dick gasped at the sound of a voice. He hadn’t heard one other than his own in God knows how long. 

He shook his head, determined not to let anything happen to his family.

He heard the man sigh and felt something being placed over his ears, cutting off all noise. 

“No,” he whispered, pleading. He thought the white room was bad, but as his vision was consumed with a black cloth, he realized, this was going to be worse, way worse. 

He felt something slip into his nose and gagged as it reached his throat and snaked down into his stomach. Hands on his legs and a sharp pain somewhere he didn’t want to think about.

Then there was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He occasionally felt the cold liquid run down the tube and into his stomach, a feeling he’d felt before in one of his numerous times in the hospital, but uncomfortable nonetheless. 

He was locked in his own head, even worse than before. His head started to spin as he went over everything he had ever done wrong, then moved to making up wild scenarios about what his family must have been doing.

He rarely wasn’t crying. At first he would sob, for hours he would cry until his head hurt and he was out of tears. But now, they just fell as he laid still, unable to move.

He jerked when something moved on his face, if he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed it was a hand. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped his hallucinations would leave him alone. 

Then there was light.

The black cloth was gone and he stared struggling. It was too bright, everything hurt, and he didn’t know what was going on. 

The pressure around his head lighted and noise flooded into his ears. The AC, feet shuffling, whispers. It was too much, too loud.

He tried to lift his hands over his ears but his hands were still bound.

“Hey, hey, your safe it’s just us.” A voice said. Dick whimpered at the loud voice and tried to shrink away.

“I’m gonna take these off of you, okay?” The restraints on his hands disappeared and he quickly pulled them over his ears, pressing tight.

“Loud,” he whined, letting out a sob. He jumped when he felt a hand press to his arm.

“Nightwing?” A new voice asked. 

Nightwing? He knew that name. Was it him? He peeled his eyes open and came face to face with a red helmet.

“Red,” He breathed. The helmet nodded, sighing.

“Yeah it’s me.” Dick didn’t know what the man was talking about, but he was red, and that was good.

“No, red.” He spoke, placing a hand on the helmet.

“Wing?” His head snapped around trying to find the new voice. A boy stood next to the chair, also dressed in red. Dick smiled, Red was safe. He was safe, for now.

“Hey, lets get you out of here, alright?” The first voice asked. Why was it so familiar, and the cowl the man was wearing.

“Out?” He asked. They were letting him out? Two of the figures reached under his arms and held him up. He almost cried at the touch. It burnt but it was the best thing he’d felt for a long time.

A fourth figure walked in through the door. That suit, Robin. He was Robin, no not anymore. Damian? Bruce? And Jason and Tim, they were here. 

“Dami?” He asked. He didn’t want to believe it was real, it was just another hallucination and he would wake up back in the chair, and his freedom would have been ripped from him. 

“Grayson.” His brother whispered, placing a hand on Dick’s face. Dick sobbed, it was real, they found him.

“You came.” He cried, his knees loosing what strength they had left and falling to the floor.

“Of course we came.” It was Bruce. His mentor, the man who had raised him since he was eight, his father. 

“I wanna go home.” He was hyperventilating, sobbing into someone’s chest. He felt a hand run through his hair.

“We’re going home.” 

The ride home he refused to let go of at least one of his family members. He felt as though if he stopped roughing them, he would wake up in the chair again.

Damian and Tim piled in the backseat with him, Bruce at the wheel. He leaned onto Tim’s shoulder and wove his hand into Damian’s. He used his free hand to pick at the bandages around his arm until he could unwrap them. 

He heard Tim gasp as his wound was uncovered. It was almost fully healed. Which means that he was in the chair for at least a month. 

He felt Damian lean against him and squeeze his hand tighter. 

He was going home.


End file.
